Page 1 of Tempting the Fae Lord (The Gatekeeper’s Weakness)

Chapter One

Gale

For an orphan, I have lots of family, the youngest of which sleeps like the dead while the rest of us have been doing chores for an hour.

I lay a hand on her pink linen-covered shoulder. “Time to wake, Amaris.”

She grunts and rolls away from me.

Gah, little sisters. So annoying.

Her room reeks of the rose-scented perfume she’d begged for last summer solstice. The fragrance would be lovely if sprayed sparingly rather than doused upon every doll, pillow, and rug. At least she keeps the place tidy.

I poke her bony knee through the covers. “Wake up, lazybones.”

“Mmmph.”

Time to get serious. I tickle her armpits until she giggles herself awake.

“Gale, no. Gale, stop.” She smacks at my hands, but I’m relentless. “Quit it, or I’ll spit in your oatmeal.”

I’m relentless until she says that. “Gross.” And she’ll do it too. Amaris isn’t one for idle threats. “Come on, please?”

“No.” She yanks the covers over her head.

I tug the blanket far enough down to view her grumpy expression. “You’re cute when you’re mad.”

She works up a good wad in the back of her throat.

I snatch her covers and throw them across the room. “Out of bed! And no spitting.”

She swallows. “You’re the worst brother.”

“I’m your favorite brother, and we both know it. Up!”

“But the sun’s not even out yet.”

“We won’t be seeing the sun today, little miss.” I grab her a set of warm woolen work clothes and toss them at her feet. “There’s a big ice storm coming. I can smell it on the breeze, which is why I need you up to help the others.” The fortress isn’t ready for this weather. It’s come too early.

“I’m too little to help with that stuff.” She pouts, dragging her gray chemise over her nightgown.

“Nonsense, you’re nearly nine, and I don’t need you outside anyway. You’ll be doing Marissa’s chores, while Marissa does Jack’s chores, while Jack helps me outside. Got it?”

“You mean”—a sly smile splits her oval face—“I’ll be making this morning’s porridge?”

Oh, smoldering ashes, I hadn’t thought of that. “Yes, and no spitting.”

“What’ll you give me for not spitting?”

She’s impossible. I rack my brain. Got it. “I’ll let you win at Essin.”

Her eyes light up, but then she scowls. “Nobody will believe I beat you. Everyone knows you’re the best at Essin.”

“Some other game, then. Your pick. Just get out of bed, please. We don’t have time for this bickering.”

“Chess?”

“Sure.”

“Deal.”

I leave her be, trusting she’ll be down to start breakfast momentarily, and hurry outside to join Jack.

He’s already saddled our horses and stands nose to nose, nuzzling with Duskfen, a blue roan he’s known since the gelding’s birth. Meanwhile, Skeld, my red mare, eyes me like she’s not impressed at being asked to work this early in the morning.

Me either, girl.

I hand over the sugar cube bribe she’s expecting and hope for the best. After I mount, she only rears and bucks a few times, working the demons out.

“Feisty girl, that one.” Jack grins from atop his gentle giant.

“Wouldn’t have her any other way.” I scratch her neck and give her a good pat. She snorts. I like her temperamental personality. Keeps things interesting, and neither of us likes being bored. In that way, we work well together, Skeld and I.

We ride to the nearby village—which also happens to be the only village—to warn our neighbors of the coming storm and invite them into the relative safety of the fortress’s stone walls. The wind is crisp on my face, blustery, and carries the spicy scent of pine in every gust.

Roosters crow, announcing the impending dawn. Though it’s early, many villagers are up, stoking fires and tending to livestock. Farm life is a busy life.

Jack and I split up with plans to meet back at the square. It’ll be faster this way.

I hesitate at the first door I come to. This family won’t accept help from “the Gatekeeper’s minions.

” I hate it when they call us that. As if their whole livelihood and existence weren’t made possible by him and him alone.

The village itself wouldn’t be here if it weren't for the Gatekeeper. But even if they’re set on being ungrateful, it’s my duty to offer his protection.

As I raise my fist to knock, the door flies open. I have to sidestep to avoid being smacked in the face.

“You’re not welcome,” says the old man, Heward or Hagan or Hal or something else that probably starts with an H if my memory is to be trusted.

I look him in the eyes. “I’m aware.”

He grunts. “State your business, and go then.”

“Storm’s coming, and it’s bringing a load of ice. You and yours are welcome in the fortress if you so choose.”

“Pfft, so your master can feed off our blood? Not on your life.”

I suppress a shrug. He can be callous and judgmental with his life, but his family shouldn’t have to suffer for it. Plus, he knows very well that the Gatekeeper prefers to feed from the willing.

“In that case, we’re meeting at the square to round up the livestock from the open pasture to the barns. Help or don’t.” I leave.

He slams the door behind me. Asshole.

Not all the villagers are like him. Most accept our help graciously, and if they harbor ill will toward the Gatekeeper or those of us who live within his walls, they have enough courtesy to keep it to themselves.

The rest of the knocking goes more easily.

By noon, Jack’s leading a group back to the fortress, and I’m with the town’s best riders and a couple of loyal herding dogs corralling the livestock.

The villagers complain of the damp cold and the biting wind, but the weather doesn’t bother me.

I’ve always been more comfortable in the elements than others.

That tolerance got me into trouble a few times as a child, but I know better than to brave the chill for too long now that I’m grown.

Once the little town is as prepared as we can make it, the stragglers and I begin the ride over the well-worn path to the fortress.

To my home. As we’re passing through the arched stone gate and into the castle walls, the freezing rain starts to pop a random rhythm off the wooden planks.

If that’s not good timing, I don’t know what is.

This isn’t our first ice storm, and it won’t be our last. The villagers know where the guest quarters are, and they’re familiar with the routine.

I leave them and Skeld in the capable hands of the stable master, less the last few sugar cubes in my pocket for my loyal-but-grumpy mount, and jog through the keep toward my quarters.

The scent of freshly baked bread wafts into the halls. Here’s hoping Amaris didn’t spit in it because the smell is divine, and nothing is stopping me from rushing straight to the kitchens to claim a loaf. Not even pesky eight-year-olds.

There’s no sign of Amaris, but the pleasant sight of Eulayla slicing a mountain of potatoes greets me as I enter. Her gray hair is tied back with a green ribbon that matches her apron. She isn’t looking, so I sneak a finger’s swipe of the berry jelly cooling on the counter.

“Owe, ouch, owe!” Too hot, too hot, bad idea, too hot. I flick it from finger to palm and blow frantically.

“Serves you right.” She laughs without glancing from her project.

“But everything smells so good, and I’m starving.”

“Poor thing.”

“I can’t help if you’re the best cook that ever lived.” I slurp down the slightly less molten jam and moan.

“Flattery, is it?”

“If that gets me more jelly candies, yes.” She’s got to be part witch for how magical they taste.

“I’m saving them for our guests’ supper tonight, but the midday meal is spread on the buffet in the dining room. Now, get out of my kitchen, young man, and take all ten of those thieving fingers with you.”

I smack a kiss onto her cheek. “Thanks, Eulie.”

“Git.” She swats my bum with the flat side of her knife.

I git.

Normally, by this time in the afternoon, I’d have already eaten. I might settle down in my room to read or even take a nap. I like a good nap so it’s easier to stay up late. Better chance of catching a moment’s time with the Gatekeeper.

He only comes out at night, and often not even then.

But today, the cold front demands I eat quickly and get right back to work. The fortress is big enough for hundreds to live within its walls, but only two dozen or so call it home at any given time, so there’s much to do between us.

I don’t get a break until after supper, which we’d often eat together, though tonight sees us drifting in and out whenever chores allow.

After the work is done, those of us with any energy left to spare gather in the game room. It’s a smaller crew than usual, as it’s been a long day, and the others have gone to bed. But I can’t, not yet. I’ll wait to see if the Gatekeeper graces us with his presence.

Outside, a steady stream of ice plinks off every surface, but inside, the braziers burn gold and orange, a fire crackles in the hearth, and a stack of multicolored quilts waits to keep us warm.

Those plus hot stones for our feet and warmed spiced wine to drink, all for our comfort.

I’m more than ready to enjoy the luxury.

Amaris grabs the chessboard, raises her brows, and sets her gaze firmly on me. “Play me, Gale. I’m feeling lucky.”

“Yes, but first let’s all go over the list.” I gather Amaris, Marissa, and Jack. “Have we pulled all the shutters?”

“Yes,” they chorus.

“Closed the drapes over drafty windows?”

“Yes.”

“Stocked the firewood?”

“Yes.”

“Prepared bedchamber hearths? Swept the ash? Laid the kindling?”

“Yes, yes, and yes.”

“Even in the guest quarters?”

“Yes, even in the guest quarters.”

“All right.” I give them a sleepy grin. “We can play some games.”

“Finally.” Amaris huffs, eyes sparkling with mischief as she sets up the game on a short wooden table. “I want to be the white marble pieces. You can be the obsidian.”

I suppose it’s my time to pay up on our deal and do a bit of losing. “As you wish.” We sit on plush silk pillows, she cross-legged, I with my long legs sprawled to the side.

Meanwhile, Marissa and Jack sit at a table of regular height to play Essin—my favorite. I glare at their normal chairs with all that legroom enviously.

Essin is a bit like chess but more intricate. There are multiple levels of boards, leaving more options for strategy, and instead of kings, queens, and knights, you play with fae, tavern wenches, sheep, and pogglewomps.

Good, silly fun.

Chess, while being the more serious game, is simpler. It hails from the other side of the gate—the human side. Where our birth families live.

Perhaps they’re settling in to play a game now too. All I can do is wonder, and I wonder often.

“I’m ready,” says Amaris.

I lower my voice for her alone. “I will leave an opening for you. Be on the lookout.”

“What if I don’t see it?” She mimics my whisper, catching Marissa’s attention. Marissa shakes her head and smiles knowingly.

“Then I’ll win, and we’ll have to play again. I’ll leave openings until you do.”

“Deal.”

“Your move.”

As great as Amaris, Marissa, and Jack are, they’re not my real family.

We’re all stragglers. Bits and bobs of other families who never missed us, never even knew we were stolen. A hodgepodge of brothers and sisters with no mother, no father, no grandparents… which is why I can’t help but daydream about what my blood family is like.

Amaris—the closest thing I have to a little sister—looks nothing like me, with her dark hair and dark eyes.

But somewhere, on the other side of the ancient gate, is there a little sister with curly ash-blond hair like mine? Green eyes like mine? Does she curl up on our mother’s lap while our father tells a story?

And who sits and listens in my spot?

My thoughts scatter as Amaris abandons the board and squeals, “Good evening, Gatekeeper!”

“Evening, child.” His voice is rich and luxurious as brocade velvet.

My stomach swoops, and I twist to catch sight of him. He doesn’t join us often, only when he’s very lonesome.

Or.

When he needs…

The urge to bolt up and offer myself alights my every nerve. My muscles twitch. I’m old enough, big enough, and sturdy enough for him to drink from, but he’s never chosen me.

Desire to be chosen burns a hot flush in my chest.

I take him in from head to toe. Long hair, black as midnight, hangs in loose waves past his shoulders.

He’s on the tall side of average with a lean build hidden under a long leather duster, not a big man but somehow a big presence.

He steals all the attention in the room like a punch to the gut steals air from delicate lungs.

His dark eyes gleam with keen intelligence, scanning our little gathering and landing on Chester, who sits in the corner armchair, smoking a sweetly scented pipe.

Damn. Not me. Again.

It’s never me.

“Would you mind?” He need not mention the particulars. It’s not a secret what he requires, for though the Gatekeeper is full fae of the oldest bloodline in the realm, he’s also full vampire.

And vampires feed on the blood of the living.

Chester rises about as gracefully as an elderly dog with rheumatism, coughs, and hands the pipe over to Eulayla. “Course not, sir.”

They depart, and I deflate.

I watch until the Gatekeeper’s black leather-clad back vanishes around the corner. He takes with him the frenetic buzz of energy he brought, and we settle back into the night’s amusements: Amaris and I to our game, Jack and Marissa to theirs, and Eulayla to her knitting.

But I’m antsy now. Curious. The urge to follow and see more of him tonight rises like the full moon.

Other than the folks in this house and perhaps half of the villagers, the entire realm hates the Gatekeeper. For what he is. What he’s tasked to do. For being solitary and detached. They say he has ice in his veins.

They say far worse things than that.

Ultimately, it’s his fault I’m stuck here and not thriving on the other side of the gate with my real family, where I belong. By all accounts, I should hate him too.

But I don’t.

I can’t.

I’m far too fascinated by him for something so simple as hate.